


I saw the crescent

by ExNihiIo



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Flirting, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sparring as a form of foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25830694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExNihiIo/pseuds/ExNihiIo
Summary: Ethari finds him in the training field.
Relationships: Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 114





	I saw the crescent

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic on New Year's and it only took me eight months to finish it! Are you proud of me???   
> Anyway, this is my first fic for The Dragon Prince, I hope you will enjoy it!

* * *

Ethari finds him in the training field.

It’s late at night, and the moon casts her gentle light onto Runaan’s hair, his horns and their ornaments shining faintly. He’s barefoot, only a light tunic and the shortest pair of pants from his uniform set, his legs exposed to the cool breeze. He’s holding his blade high, at the level of his eyes, and then he swings it with a rapid motion of his wrist.  _ Swish, swish _ , goes the blade, a silver beam in the dimness of the field.

“Runaan,” calls Ethari, and he sees the way Runaan’s shoulders tense, his hand tightening on the hilt of his weapon. The blade stills in the air, with still a faint ringing cutting through silence.

It’s always been one of the best weapons Ethari has ever made.

“I got distracted,” Runaan sighs, lowering his arm. The blade goes back into its sheath, and he turns with a tired look on his face.

“I can see that,” Ethari retorts. He walks closer, now that he has the knowledge he won’t risk being hit by one of his husband’s fancier moves— he’s always been kind of a show-off.

(Ethari has also seen their effects on skin. Rayla’s skin had been purple around the cut, angry tears running down her face. It hadn’t even been a surprise attack, or the result of a mistake)

Runaan sags against him when Ethari’s arms wrap around him, a kiss pressed to his sweaty nape. Ethari hums softly and tightens his grasp on him. “You feel exhausted.”

He does. Runaan’s muscles tremble under skin, tense and rigid. Ethari runs his fingers down his arms to his wrists, and Runaan exhales and turns around, sinking his face in Ethari’s neck. 

“I had some thoughts I had to fight off,” he murmurs. Ethari caresses his hair. “Have you won yet?”

“Kind of,” Runaan scoffs. His grip tightens around Ethari’s waist, and he raises his head. “I have still gotten energy to burn.”

Ethari hums again, his fingers pressing against Runaan’s neck, feeling him exhale softly. “We can spar, if you want.”

Runaan nods. “I would like that.”

“Or,” Ethari says quietly. “We could find some other way for you to burn energy.”

Runaan snorts and presses a hand to Ethari’s chest, pushing him away. “You would like that, wouldn’t you.”

Ethari’s eyes glimmer in the moonlight. 

Yes, he thinks, he would like that very much.

They break apart just like that, Runaan’s gaze now sharper, bright in the dim light.    
It’s a full moon, tonight. Ethari watches as Runaan’s skin shifts into invisibility with the ease of a sigh, but the intensity of his eyes never fades.

It’s in occasions like this one, that Ethari remembers how lethal Runaan is.

“Shed your weapons and fight me with nothing more than your hands,” Ethari says, and Runaan’s teeth glint in the darkness. “Do you want me to shed my clothes, too?” he asks, dropping his sword on a nearby table.

Fights aren’t usually done naked, in their native home. But Ethari has seen Runaan without his clothes one too many times not to think about it, and he knows Runaan knows. The light in his eyes changes swiftly, and then he’s charging towards him, fast and powerful, and his arms slide around Ethari’s chest.

He breathes out, air punched out of his lungs, and it’s only because of luck and Runaan’s tiredness that he manages to slip out of his grasp. He feels Runaan laugh against his skin, a hand slipping on his arm, and Ethari grins, moving forward and falling back into the familiar moves he’d learnt as a child.

They’d been sparring back then as well, Runaan’s eyes bigger than now, his face rounder. It had been easier to pin him down then, Runaan still taller than him but thinner, more lanky. Now it doesn’t come as easy, Runaan being too fast and Ethari being too heavy, his muscles trained not with blade and bow but with hammer and anvil. But still he manages, because Runaan is not in his prime right now and he’s played this game of tag before enough times to know where this is going. 

“You’ve gotten faster,” Runaan says, parrying Ethari’s attack. He then moved forward, lethal and effortless like the assassin he has trained all his life to be. Ethari grunts under his fist, but manages to wrap a hand around it, and twist Runaan’s arm until he’s got him beneath his body, fingers still wrapped around Runaan’s wrist and the other hand splayed open against his back.

“It’s not me,” Ethari murmurs, bending to press his mouth to Runaan’s sweaty nape. “It’s you who’s gotten slower, my love.”

“I will show you slow, if you’ll free me,” Runaan retorts. He tries to kick him, but Ethari sees right through him this time. He presses down harder, this time using his knees as well to keep Runaan completely still, and Runaan actually lets out a tiny gasp that raises a small cloud of dust near his mouth.

“Yield,” Ethari presses. “I can go at this longer than you surely can.”

“An assassin should never yield when faced with an adversary,” Runaan grunts.

“When faced with an adversary,” Ethari complies. “But when faced with your husband?”

Runaan’s shoulders tense, then go slack, and Ethari feels Runaan relaxing beneath him. Carefully, he lets go and turns him around, letting Runaan’s head rest on his thigh.

“You’ve worked so hard,” Ethari murmurs, bringing his hand to Runaan’s cheek to clean him from the dust and dirt that had stuck to his skin. Runaan hums and turns his head to kiss his palm. 

Ethari grasps his hand, and with his free fingers he slowly traces the veins running down Runaan’s arm, feeling the powerful muscles quiver from effort and tiredness. He presses his hand to Runaan’s chest, then, and taps his fingers on his tunic.

“You’ve overexerted yourself again,” he says, reprimanding, and Runaan turns on his side to face him. “I was overthinking. I needed to let it out.”

“You don’t train until this hour, usually,” Ethari sighs. Runaan gazes at him apologetically and rubs his arm. “I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you.”

“It’s fine. Rayla told me. But you should probably go easy on her for a couple of days, her arm needs some time to recover.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

Ethari hums and sinks his hand in Runaan’s hair, smiling as he closes his eyes and tilts his head back to his caress. Runaan’s body feels relaxed under his touch, no longer tense from the training and the sparring, and for that he’s happy.

“Rayla told me,” he says then, quiet and reserved. Runaan only hums and tugs on his free hand, slotting their fingers together. “Did she?”

“Yes. She looked very proud.”

“As she should. It is a great mission, for her and everyone else involved.”

Ethari pushes Runaan’s hair back from his forehead. "She's so young," he murmurs. 

Runaan squeezes his hand. "She is, but she won't be alone. And I've trained her well."

"You have," Ethari sighs. "You've been very stern." 

Runaan furrows his brows. "Sometimes stern is good." 

"I know," Ethari says. Then he smiles and adds, quiet and cheekily. "I like it when you're stern." 

Runaan groans, but the hand he wraps around Ethari's calf is warm; his gaze is fond. “You always get so nervy when you’re tired.”

Ethari hums and tangles their fingers together, pressing Runaan’s palm to his mouth in a slow, measured kiss. Runaan’s fingers twitch for a second, and Ethari smiles. “And you like it when I get so.”

Runaan sits up and moves his hand away from Ethari’s mouth only to press his lips against his. Ethari makes a small noise against his mouth and sinks his fingers in Runaan’s hair, pulling him closer. 

The cloud that had so meaningly hidden the moon finally passes, and Runaan’s skin becomes starlight under Ethari’s fingers.

The village is silent around them, nature a mute witness. Runaan’s hand curls around Ethari’s shoulder and pushes, but this time Ethari doesn’t oppose to it, but follows, and Runaan pins him to the wet grass.

Their kiss tastes of the salt of their sweat, and Ethari’s hands slide down Runaan’s back as he pulls him closer. Runaan makes a small noise at that, his grip moving from Ethari’s shoulder to curl fingers around his jaw, his other arm braced against the ground as to not weigh on Ethari, as if Ethari would ever complain about Runaan’s body pressed against his.

He makes it clear as his hands grip Runaan’s waist, and  _ tug _ , and Runaan lets out a small, breathless laugh and breaks the kiss to sit on Ethari’s lap, his skin glistening for the fight and the moonlight.

“As much as I love you, I still am not shameless enough to lie with you in the open,” he murmurs, the laugh still transparent in his voice. Ethari hums and slides his hands from Runaan’s waist to his thighs, gripping. Runaan shivers above him.

“I see,” Ethari says, his voice tinted with feigned thoughtfulness. “Not shameless enough to do it in the open, but enough to do it on our balcony. Or in my forge. Or, that time on the road, where you pulled me into the bushes and—”

“Those were hardly in the open,” Runaan replies, as if he didn’t suggest they spar naked not twenty minutes ago. Ethari slides his fingers under Runaan’s uniform shorts, and Runaan’s breath wavers. “The bushes were very much in the open,” Ethari laughs. Runaan groans and curls over, cupping Ethari’s face in his hands to muffle his laugh with a kiss.

“Let us just go back home,” he says. Ethari lets his fingers slide further up Runaan’s thigh, and grins. “Stop by at the forge?”

Runaan grabs his chin and bends to whisper in his ear, “I will race you. Let’s see who’s faster.”

He says it, lust incarnate, and accompanies with the gentlest rock of his hips that has Ethari hold his breath and grip Runaan’s waist to halt him, or all Gods be damned, he will really take Runaan here in the open, far enough from their village to not be heard by sleepless elves, but not enough to not be spotted by an insomniac wanderer.

“Alright,” he says, and much to his surprise Runaan flashes him a smile and wiggles out of his hold, already running towards their home.

“Cheat!” Ethari calls after him, and runs. Runaan’s laugh echoes airy and light between the trees, and then between the buildings of their village as he runs through the marketplace and all the nooks and crannies where they would hide as children during their hide-and-seek games, and then as teenagers when they wanted some quiet to be by themselves in the blooming of their relationship.

Ethari catches up to Runaan; at some point, when the hours of training and their foreplay has finally made Runaan’s limbs heavier and his step heavier. Ethari catches up to him at the door of their house, and muffles Runaan’s laugh against his mouth as he pins him against the wood, hands gripping Runaan’s waist and then sliding down his thighs and behind them to pick him up and press him better against the door.

Runaan’s breath falters, and his fingers dig into Ethari’s shirt. “Come on.”

Ethari nips at his jaw. “Is this less in the open than the training fields?”

“Hardly,” Runaan replies, but tightens his fingers in Ethari’s hair. “Take me inside, husband.”

“Rayla will be asleep,” Ethari says. Runaan’s legs tighten around his waist. “She better be.”

There’s no kindness in the way Ethari opens the door in his foot, nor elegance. Runaan dips his head to kiss him full on the lips about halfway to their bedroom, and Ethari takes the chance to push him on his work table and slide between his parted legs.

“Here?” Runaan gasps, already sliding his hand on Ethari’s nape, cradling his head as Ethari mouths at his neck, sucking mark after mark. Ethari grins against his skin and runs his hands over Runaan’s thighs, feeling him tremble. “You will have to be quiet.”

Runaan tugs on Ethari’s tunic. “Don’t threaten me.”

Ethari laughs. “It was not a threat. It was a warning.”

Even so, he is gentle in the way he opens Runaan's tunic, and in the way he drags his mouth down his neck, his clavicles and neck, his hands  _ tightening _ over Runaan's thighs just for the thrill of making him shiver. He knows that, come morning, his husband will have the imprints of his hands on his skin, and it doesn't matter that Runaan will hide them with the stuffy pants of his uniform. They will still be there in the evening for Ethari to slowly uncover and kiss, in the never ending worship that his husband deserves. 

“Ethari,” Runaan gasps, his fingers tightening in Ethari's hair where he's sucking a bruise on Runaan's hip. Ethari grins and slides his fingers under Runaan's shorts. “I want to take my time.”

“Not allowed,” Runaan retorts. He tugs lightly on Ethari's hair. “Be nice. Haven't I waited long enough?”

“I'm not very sure about that,” Ethari grins. Runaan tugs on his hair again, a little harder this time, and brings him closer to where he wants him. Ethari looks up at him. 

“You can take your time,” Runaan says, “But not now.”

Ethari slides his hands over Runaan's butt. “Very well.”

It's been years since their awkward, uncertain first attempts at making love, but it never stops surprising him; it's in the soft sigh Runaan let's out, in the way his eyes close with abandon and his head tilts back; it's in his hands, one gone soft in Ethari's hair and the other tightening around the edge of the table, knuckles white with effort; it's in the way Runaan, strongest soldier and pride and joy of their village, offers himself so easily and vulnerably to Ethari, all his pride put aside but just for their time together. 

Runaan's next breath came out quivering, and his hand tightens in Ethari's hair. “Ethari—”

His husband hums, the noise making breath hitch in Runaan's throat and his hands trembling. He pulls, tugging Ethari's mouth off him with a pained sigh, and reaches with his other hand to cup his husband's nape. 

“Take me to bed,” he murmurs, tugging him closer. Ethari rests his head against Runaan's chest and sighs, arms hugging his waist. “Aren't you comfortable?”

Runaan's fingers curl in his hair. “I'd be more comfortable with a bed under my back and you on top of me.”

Ethari snorts. “Spoiled.”

“I wonder whose fault that is.”

Ethari kisses him then, and Runaan leans into him with abandon and a relieved sigh. His hands reach down Ethari's back, tugging him closer, wanting to melt into his body and never let go. 

“Take me to bed,” Runaan repeats, and Ethari laughs against his lips, murmuring, “Let me make you come first.”

He reaches down, and Runaan inhales deeply as Ethari's hand works on him, deepening the kiss until Runaan has to lean back on the table. 

“I'm close,” Runaan gasps, and Ethari groans against his neck, his mouth pressed to Runaan's skin in an open-mouthed kiss until Runaan goes taut like a bowstring between his arms, before going soft and quiet with a sigh. 

Runaan's fingers slide over Ethari's nape. “Will you listen to me, now?” he murmurs. Ethari laughs again. “Very well.”

Later, they lie in bed, Ethari's head resting on Runaan's chest and Runaan's fingers in his hair. The bed sheets are pooled at their feet, but Ethari tugs them up to their waists. Runaan snorts. 

“What, are you cold now?”

Ethari hums and turns on his front, resting his chin on Runaan's chest. “ _ Very _ cold. I think it would be good if you warmed me up.”

Runaan cups Ethari's nape, still grinning. “Oh? Maybe we should start piling winter clothes next to our bed if you're so sensitive to the cold.”

Ethari hums again. “Maybe we're getting old.”

“Lies,” Runaan says. “We haven't aged a day since we married.”

That makes Ethari laugh. He shifts again, and hides his face against Runaan's neck. Slowly, he exhales. 

“I love you,” he murmurs in the quietness of the night. Runaan turns and presses him against the mattress, sighing as Ethari tilts his head back and kisses him. 

“I will wait for you,” Ethari says. “While you're out on your mission. I will wait.”

“I will be be back before you know it,” Runaan reassures him. He presses a hand to Ethari's chest, feels the beat of his heart. A gift more precious than Runaan's own life. 

Ethari's hand lands on top of his, smiling. “My heart will be with you even when the moon is not.”

Runaan leans in to kiss him. “And so will mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yell with me on [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/ExNihiIo_) and [Tumblr](https://exnihiio.tumblr.com/)!! ^^  
> You can also find me on [Curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/lanjingyeets?t=1567431334)!


End file.
